Flame of Sevenwaters (49 page)

“There’s no lasting damage, my lord,” said the contender, not sparing her a look. “Save maybe to her pride.”

The crowd erupted in applause. There was no doubting that this unpleasant piece of showmanship had won the man his position.
It was clear Master of Portals meant something quite different from what I had imagined, and I wondered how many portals existed that humankind knew nothing of. Portals between our world and Mac Dara’s, for instance. Now that I thought of it, Clodagh’s story had contained a trip through a mysterious tunnel, accompanied by the Old Ones; that was how she had managed to return to the Otherworld to rescue Cathal. So there was indeed more than one way across. I wondered which Swift would find more unsettling, a narrow bridge of withies or a dark underground passage. Poor Swift…I hoped he was not too unsettled. It would be cruel to lead him out there and subject him to the crowd, the fire, the noise. Let this be over soon, and let me get him home to his quiet field and the simple companionship of Pearl.

More appointments were decided: Overseer of Border Magic, Guardian of the Prince’s Treasure, Controller of Others.

“What are Others?” I whispered to Dioman.

“Lesser races. Those that dwell here and those that wander in.”

“Oh.” I exchanged a glance with Finbar. Dioman meant the Old Ones; he meant the tree people Finbar had seen earlier.
Lesser
covered, most likely, anyone who was not of the Fair Folk, including us.

“It can’t be much longer.” Something in Luachan’s voice caught my attention, and when I turned to look at him, it was to see his lips pressed into a tight line. He was so pale he looked ill. “They are almost at the end of their list.”

Perhaps I, too, looked as if fear was gnawing at my vitals. “Dioman—” I began, wanting to ask how long we must wait.

“Caisin Silverhair!” Mac Dara’s voice came clearly from down at the basin, and I fell silent. Without rising, he turned his head to gaze at Caisin where she stood with her sister on one side and Breasal the councilor on the other. “Your clan has shown a remarkable lack of ambition today. Not one of your kinsfolk contesting a position? Not a single member of your family dazzling us with displays of brilliance? What’s come over you? In all the conclaves I’ve had the dubious privilege to preside over, this is the first at which none of your people has stepped up to the challenges.”

Caisin bent her knee in a courtly gesture that was not quite a curtsy. “True, my lord.” Her tone was sweet and confident; she spoke in apparent amity.

“What have we left, Fraochan?” Mac Dara made show of turning to his councilor, who still had the scroll in his hands. “Surely we can find something to offer Caisin’s folk.” Fraochan opened his mouth to answer, but Mac Dara spoke over him. “I see your sister here today, Caisin, but not your brother. Surely Dioman would not absent himself from a Grand Conclave. The rules are quite plain. For a nobleman of your brother’s status, the penalty for nonattendance is—”

“Severe, yes, we are aware of that, my lord, as is our brother.” Caisin spoke courteously, as before. “He is not far off and will be with us soon. As for positions of office, we—”

“Ah,” said the Lord of the Oak as his councilor showed him something on the scroll. “Keeper of the Hounds. How about that? Vacant, since the previous keeper suffered an unfortunate accident yesterday; someone could step right in. Isn’t your brother supposed to have a way with animals?”

My flesh crawled, remembering. How dared he? How dared a man like that keep hounds of his own? How could he even dream of it?

“Fey hounds,” whispered Finbar. “Not…” His voice faltered.

Now Mac Dara was saying something about it needing to be a test, not a challenge, and calling for Dioman to step forward or pay the penalty for disobedience. In the moment before Dioman himself spoke, I noticed something interesting: the members of Caisin’s household were no longer standing together in a group, but had spread themselves out amongst the crowd. The blue and silver could be seen all around the stone basin.

“I must leave you.” Dioman did not sound troubled by his prince’s summons. He looked perfectly calm, as if there were nothing to fear.

“Tell us first,” I said, “how much longer must we wait? Will it be time soon?”

“Oh, very soon,” said Dioman, his gaze moving to Luachan and then to me.

“If you are not here, how will we—”

“Prepare yourselves. When it is time, you will know.” He turned on his heel and was gone.

A sudden babble of voices soon after told me that Dioman had come into view of the crowd. He walked around the basin’s edge—folk made way as he passed—and halted before Mac Dara’s throne, where he delivered a sketchy bow.

“We should get ready,” Finbar said. “It’s nearly time.”

Cold fingers clawed at my belly. Mac Dara was saying he would release his hounds against a quarry, and Dioman must show his skill by calling them off at the height of the pursuit. It should be an easy quarry, since the whole performance must take place within sight of the assembled folk. The Lord of the Oak pondered awhile; he looked around the crowd, making play of searching. I wondered why he did not conjure a fat partridge or long-limbed hare for his dogs to chase. After the displays of magic we had seen, that should be simple stuff.

“Ah,” he said eventually. “Ideal. Coblaith, pass down that ridiculous creature of yours.”

It was the little dog I had seen on the night the Fair Folk rode past our place of hiding; the night I was shown a perfect Maeve dancing with her beloved. The tiny creature had scant hope of escaping a pack of hunting hounds in full cry, and surely none at all if those hounds were fey.

Get down there right now,
whispered Wild Maeve in my ear.
Snatch up the dog and hold him safe. Tell those sycophantic courtiers it’s time someone stopped Mac Dara’s acts of casual cruelty.
But Sensible Maeve had a stronger voice. There was a bigger battle to fight, a battle in which this sacrifice weighed little. I bit my lip; my eyes stung with tears.

Coblaith stood holding her pet, waiting for the signal to set it down. At least this would be over quickly. My whole body was tight.

“Bring forth my hounds!” Mac Dara ordered.

In moments there was a hubbub of barking and yipping and the pack burst through the crowd to mill about before Mac Dara,
awaiting the command. I heard the excitement of the impending chase in their voices. Was Mac Dara’s hall just over the next hill, that they had come so quickly, or had the Lord of the Oak summoned them by magic?

“Release the—No, wait.” A pause, then Mac Dara said, “I don’t want you claiming your brother did not get a fair chance, Caisin. Perhaps a count of ten between the release of the quarry and the command to follow?”

A count of ten, with the creature in panic and not knowing which way to turn—it was ludicrous. The hounds would rip the little dog apart before Dioman could say a word.

“Perhaps you might clarify, my lord prince.” Dioman might have been asking Mac Dara to pass the salt. “The quarry is to be released; then I’m to count to ten, give the word for the hounds to course, then recall them before they reach the prey?”

Run, little one! Run for your very life!

“Well done, Dioman.” The tone oozed contempt. “Your understanding is perfectly correct. But I see a flaw in this. We must allow the hounds a little time to run, at least, or the recall is too easy. Another ten, I think. Everyone can count. Begin, will you? I’m getting bored; these games are so tedious.”

Coblaith released the dog, which stood stock-still a moment, then bolted. I closed my eyes; I could not watch this. The crowd counted to ten. Dioman spoke a command and the hounds gave voice, rushing in pursuit.

“Here!” Finbar spoke in an urgent undertone, and my eyes sprang open just in time to see the little dog hurtling straight toward us, so fast it almost seemed to fly. My brother squatted and caught it as one might a ball. The impact almost toppled him, but he regained his balance, then rose to draw his cloak over the creature and hold it firmly against his chest.

In the next moment the hounds were all around us on the rise, a confused flow of brown and gray, sniffing here and there, at a loss to find the scent. I held myself still and silent, hoping that if the Fair Folk could not see us, we would also be invisible to the hounds. Finbar stood strong. His jaw was tight, his eyes fierce, his
feet planted square. I feared for him. Surely the hounds must detect the little dog’s presence, if not by sight, then by smell. No veil of invisibility had been thrown over the creature or the hunting pack.

“They can’t see him,” Finbar mouthed.

It seemed he was right. As the dogs circled and sniffed and pawed at the earth, it became obvious that they did not know where their quarry had gone. Under Finbar’s cloak the little dog was no more visible to them than we were.

“Ay-oop!” Dioman’s call came on a rising cadence. “To me! To me!”

The hounds turned as one, heading back down to the stone basin. Sounds of acclaim rang out; this was a triumph for Dioman. I could hear the panicky rasp of the little dog’s breathing. A count of twice ten. It had felt endless.

“Is it hurt?” I whispered to my brother.

Finbar shook his head. There was something new in his eyes; something I did not want to banish with the words that must come next. Luachan spoke for me.

“It’s almost time, Finbar. We must go. Put the dog down.”

Finbar wrapped his arms more firmly around the creature. He pressed his lips together. My brother had the wisdom of a seer and the courage of a chieftain. He had endured his strange and testing journey with remarkable composure. Right now he was a child.

“Luachan’s right,” I said quietly. “The dog will be safer up here. The hunting hounds won’t come back. Dioman called them off.”

“No.” Finbar was adamant. “Everyone would see him. And even if he escaped, how could he look after himself in the woods?”

“He’s not yours to keep,” said Luachan flatly. “Let him go and he’ll return to whoever had him before. Mac Dara has no interest in the dog; the whole thing was a challenge to Caisin.”

Finbar and I both stared at him. Did he really imagine the dog could be safe out there after what had happened to Bear and Badger? Coblaith was fair of face and remote of expression: I had seen no link of love between her and her pet. Indeed, it had seemed to me both this creature and Dioman’s owl might be ensorcelled to
passivity, so the folk who carried them might not be inconvenienced. I peered into the fold of Finbar’s cloak, but the little dog had its face jammed in the crook of his arm and all I could see was its trembling body.

“What if we find a safe spot by the rocks and bed him down there on your cloak? If he has any sense he’ll lie low long enough for us to pick him up on the way home.” And when Finbar turned betrayed eyes on me, I added, “Finbar, it simply isn’t safe for him down there, even if you’re holding him. Anything could happen.”

“All I have to do is stand and watch. I can stand and watch and hold a dog at the same time.”

“We mustn’t do anything to anger Mac Dara,” put in Luachan. “He might believe he’s been somehow tricked.”

“He has,” Finbar pointed out. “It was Dioman’s spell of invisibility that confused the hounds.” After a moment he added, “I’m not going without him.”

Now came the voice of Mac Dara’s councilor, Fraochan, once more. He was drawing the conclave to a close; it seemed Dioman’s effort had been considered adequate, though if he had accepted the position of Master of Hounds, the interchange had passed us by.

“Since all posts are now decided, I will invite our prince to speak once more before the commencement of feasting and revels. My lord prince—”

“Wait.” Caisin’s voice cut through Fraochan’s, clear, sweet and firmly authoritative. “Surely there is one position as yet uncontested.”

“You can’t be suggesting…” began Fraochan, then fell silent, perhaps not brave enough to say the rest aloud.

“Are you not the Keeper of the Rules, Fraochan?”

The fire was flaming higher now; here and there it licked the basin’s rim in patterns of red and gold, setting my blood pulsing with fear.
You’re a grown woman
, I told myself sternly.
Stand up and fight. Make an end to the bad things.

“Let me get this clear, my lady.” Fraochan had gathered himself, but his voice had an edge to it now. “You wish to challenge for leadership of the realm? You seek to replace my lord Mac Dara?”

“The rules allow it.” Caisin sounded as calm as if she were discussing
the best way to lay the table. So she herself would stand against Mac Dara. I had not expected this; hadn’t she implied earlier that one of her allies would put himself forward? If, as ruler, Caisin demonstrated the same kindness and compassion she had shown to us, this realm would indeed change under her leadership.

“But nobody has ever done so. The ruler has always chosen the time of his departure and named the one who will succeed him. Since time before time, my lady.”

“You wish me to read you the relevant passage, Fraochan? Perhaps it’s never been done before, though I very much doubt that, but I believe you’ll find such a challenge falls within the rules. I am sure the wording states that
every
position of authority, up to and including that of ruler, may be contested at any Grand Conclave.”

It was surely almost time for us to walk out and be seen. They must bring Swift soon. “Finbar,” I whispered, crouching down beside him, “you can’t take the dog. We don’t know what’s going to happen down there.”

He turned his big, solemn eyes on me. “I do know,” he said. “I’m taking him.”

Down at the basin, the debate continued. “My lady, it is customary for the ruler to make the choice to stand down, and for him to select—”

Mac Dara cut his councilor short. “Caisin is right, Fraochan. What she suggests is entirely within the rules of the conclave. Why has it never happened before?” He got up and strolled forward, giving the impression that he found it all somewhat ridiculous. “Because no one has ever possessed the ambition and the folly to imagine they could win such a contest. Until Caisin Silverhair and her misguided kinsfolk, that is. So here we are, my lady.” Mac Dara smiled; it was not pleasant to see. “Let it never be said Mac Dara shrank from a challenge. What’s it to be—a display of magic, the winner to be decided by the crowd? Or a battle to the death?”